Darkness wasn't just the absence of light. It was the sound of a mother's scream fading into silence. The crackle of fire swallowing a home. The cold rush of guilt that never leaves. Tom remembered that night too well. The way the sky cracked open, like it couldn't contain the power that had awoken within him.
He had only been ten.
Now, five years later, he still dreamed of that moment. The scarred ruins of his village. His father's burnt cloak. The emptiness.
And the glyph.
It was carved into his skin like a curse. The mark of a Demon Heir. Glowing red whenever fear or rage stirred inside him. A symbol of power—yes—but also a reminder that he had destroyed the people he loved.
He sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the drop, watching the sky fade from gold to indigo. Wind blew through his hair, cold against his face, but it didn't bother him. He had learned not to flinch. Not to feel. Not if he wanted to keep the monster inside from rising.
Behind him, footsteps. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Still brooding, fire-boy?" Marcus said, dropping beside him. His voice carried that usual teasing edge, but the softness in his eyes betrayed the concern. "You'll get a wrinkle if you keep frowning like that."
Tom didn't respond. He didn't have to.
Marcus looked out across the forest that spread below them. "King Edmund says we leave tomorrow. South. Past the river cities."
Tom nodded slowly. That meant the journey had begun. The whispers were true—glyphs were returning. Kids like them, touched by ancient forces, were awakening. And something darker was coming.
Something that hunted them.
"Do you ever wonder why it's us?" Marcus asked, voice quiet now. "Why we're the ones with these... things inside us?"
Tom turned his head slightly. "Because fate has a cruel sense of humor."
A silence stretched between them. Comfortable, but heavy.
Then a voice called out from the hill behind them.
"Hey! Stop being moody and come eat! I made stew!" That was Lucy. Bright, cheerful, and probably the only one who could make a deadly glyph sound like a toy.
Tom stood. Marcus grinned and got up too. They walked back toward the camp where the others waited—Peter, Kitty, Frank, and the rest. Eight in total. All marked. All different. All bound by glyphs they didn't fully understand.
The fire crackled at the center of their circle. Lucy handed bowls around while Peter argued with Kitty over some ridiculous theory about whether demon blood could taste sweetness. Frank sat apart, eyes closed, fingers brushing over the edge of his sword.
Tom sat beside the fire, the warmth of it brushing his skin. For a moment, just a breath of time, it almost felt normal.
Then the glyph on his arm pulsed.
His head jerked up.
Something was coming.
Across the clearing, Frank's eyes snapped open. He felt it too. A flicker of presence in the distance. Cold, sharp, and laced with killing intent.
Kitty's bowl clattered to the ground.
Lucy froze mid-sentence.
Then—
A boom. The ground shook. Trees bent backward from a force that didn't belong in the human world.
Marcus was already standing, pulling his blade. "Get ready."
The shadows of the trees twisted. Something stepped through them. Cloaked in black. Masked. Its glyph burned a deep, sickly purple. Not like theirs.
"They've found us," Frank whispered.
The thing spoke. Not with a voice, but with pressure. It echoed inside their minds.
"You who carry glyphs... your blood is not yours. Surrender it."
Tom's pulse roared in his ears.
No.
Not again.
He stepped forward. The glyph on his arm flared crimson. Fire curled around his hands like serpents. Marcus shouted something behind him, but Tom couldn't hear. The only thing that mattered was stopping this thing from hurting the others.
The demon moved—too fast. Tom barely blocked the strike. Fire met shadow. Heat met void. The impact sent both of them sliding back.
"Stay together!" Peter yelled. Kitty was already summoning her light glyph, her palms glowing gold.
They fought together. Awkward. Messy. But something clicked. Like puzzle pieces snapping into place.
Lucy healed Marcus when he was slashed. Frank blocked a second attacker Tom hadn't even seen. Peter's glyph shot lightning. Kitty's wings of light shielded them all.
In the chaos, Tom saw it—what they could become. What they were meant to be.
Not accidents. Not cursed.
Chosen.
And as he raised his burning hands and screamed, the forest lit up.
The thing in the shadows burned.
And still, something deeper stirred beyond the horizon.
Watching.
Waiting.